


Control, control I’ve got no

by Green_Demoness



Category: Mr. Mercedes (TV Show), Mr. Mercedes - Fandom
Genre: Daddy Kink, Home Invasion, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Demoness/pseuds/Green_Demoness
Summary: After installing a RAT (remote access tool) on Hodges' laptop and stalking him day by day, Brady Hartsfield decides to visit him one night.
Relationships: Bill Hodges/Brady Hartsfield
Kudos: 4





	Control, control I’ve got no

**Author's Note:**

> Why I wrote this story? Fuck me if I know. Must be a quarentine effect ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Heed the tags, things are going to get pretty weird down here
> 
> English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistake

After days observing the detective with his webcam and the RAT software, Brady already knew most of the patterns of the detective’s day. When he wakes up, what he does all day and what time he sleeps. It’s infinitely boring. The old Bill Hodges really needed him to spice up things. Woke up in any place where he didn’t remember sleeping, sometimes too tired, sometimes drunk. Eat whatever he could find in his cupboard, not caring about his health. And spending days watching boring-ass TV shows or watching the people passing by on the window. God, Brady could die of boredom just by thinking about living like that.

So that’s why he decided to send the messages. To talk with his old detective. Shake his cobwebs loose. It has been fun to mock and taunt the old man through the messages. However, Brady felt he needed more than that. He wanted a little more control. That’s why he installed the remote access tool. He could see everything the police had on him, could make files disappear giving Hodges a sensation of gaslight. But that still isn't enough for the killer.

He wanted more. Much more. Then, he put his plan on tracks. He messed Hodges’ liquor with sleep pills. Enough to give him a very long sleep, without killing him. Without him, nothing made sense. Brady had been around his house, checking locks and windows some weeks prior. For someone who was from Law enforcement, Hodges did live in a very insecure and very “breakable-into” house.

Brady zipped his black hood and left the car under a shadow over a big tree. All lights on the neighborhood were out. 3 a.m. No one is awake in those unholy hours. Brady goes to the side of some bushes and lifts the window enough to pass a metal bar to push up the latch. He gets inside the house. Pretty much of the layout of the house is inside his head, so he can navigate without turning on the lights.

He gets upstairs and opens the bedroom door. He sees that the blinds are down and presses the switch on the wall, flooding the room with light. Hodges, sprawled on the bed, doesn’t even stir from the sudden luminosity. He is too far from this world to notice anything. The tampered liquor bottle has fallen on the left side of the bed, staining the crème colored carpet. 

Brady stops a moment to admire what he has done. The detective was so vulnerable. He could slash his throat. He could strangle him. He could set up a bomb and many other things and disappear like a thief in the night. But none of those things were on his mind right now. He wanted to be seen there. But by Hodges’ eyes only. He would put up a special and particular show for him. And for him only. Hartsfield turned to the detective's laptop and set up the webcam to record. It captured all the area of the bed. He had planned it all along. With the hood covering his face, he entered the bed, sitting atop of the detective. Hodges presses his eyes, feeling the sudden weight on him, but doesn’t wake up again. The pills would last some hours, so Brady had all the time he would need.

He undoes the tie and casts the fabric aside. He rips the blue shirt, making the buttons pop. Brady is smiling feverishly. He always wanted control and then he had it. No more being forced into something. He was the master now. He who decided what would be done and what wouldn’t. He leans to whisper on Hodges’ ear.

\- What would the police think about this? What will you think about this when you see it?

He starts trailing kisses on Hodges face, jawline and goes for his lips. Oddly, they are soft, and there’s a lingering taste of bourbon on them. Unknowingly, Brady whimpers and kisses them again. It was supposed only to mess up with the detective. A strange feeling surge on Brady’s chest. Like hotness coming from his guts. He lies atop the detective, resting his head on his shoulder and laying his arm over the detective’s belly.

Round and soft. Brady likes it. Hodges is a big man. Like a big bear, as some people would put. A teddy bear, as the thought runs up Brady’s mind. A toy. That was what the asleep detective was on Brady’s hands. His scrawny fingers trace patterns over the detective’s skin. Feeling a little more daring, he opens the belt and the fly of Hodges’ pants.

The red LED of the webcam caught Brady’s eyes. When Bill Hodges sees the video of this night, he would know that the Mr. Mercedes isn’t a run-of-the-mill killer. He was different. All lights and all eyes should be on him. This gives the push to Brady caves in into his desires. He grabs the member of the old man and gives an experimental shake. Hodges exhales loudly. He had never done this with another man and wasn’t keen on doing this on himself. It reminded him of his mother’s nasty touches. However, now he was the one in control. He leisurely starts caressing up and down. Hodges softly starts moaning. Brady feels himself getting hard too.

Brady sits atop the detective again. His thin hooded form would shield what was about to happen from the camera, but he didn’t care. He would leave a reminder and, anyways, it was way more he had bargained for. He unzips his pants and lowers his underwear. He joins the detective member with his own on his hand. It gets hard to have a good grip on both. He allows himself to vocalize his pleasure. Usually, he tends to be very quiet, but today he is in control. Hodges moans and groans so much that Brady almost thinks he is going to wake up. Supporting himself with one hand over Hodges’s chest, Brady caresses them both with a crescendo rhythm. He feels a white-hot feeling pooling inside him, curling his toes and making him breathless. Both detective and killer come together. Brady falls over Hodges tired, staining his hood with come. It didn’t matter. He would burn those clothes anyway. Still breathless, he nests himself on Hodges’ side, cleaning his hand on the covers and sucking marks on the detective’s neck. Although he is tired from his ecstasy, he is feeling hyper. He had never felt something like that before. Endorphins are running through his bloodstream. The killer never felt this alive since he had run over those people with that Mercedes.

The laptop clock accuses it to be 5 a.m. The sun would soon come out. The world would get back on its daily rat race. Brady wants to stay more, laying like this. Smelling the bourbon and the cologne off Hodge’s skin. But he can’t. His control is vanishing from his hands. Soon the detective would wake. He has to go to his lame-ass jobs. His mother would ask where the hell he had been all this time.

This adventure would need to suffice for the time being. It would have other opportunities. And Brady would seize them, with victorious hands. Hartsfield leaves a last kiss on Hodges’ lips, stops the record, sends the copy of the video to himself and leaves from the same window he had come in.

Driving his car, the images of the night before still plays on his head. It might be his ruin, but he would cave in willingly. Brady smiles when he finds the copy on his hard drive. He wants to watch it again and again. But the drunk and slushy voice of his mother asking if he is not going to work today, takes out all the mood of him. Hartsfield would have plenty of time to do whatever he wanted with it.

Hodges wakes up with a thundering headache, as if he drank the whole night yesterday. The first thing he notices is that his clothes are torn and undone, then he reaches to feel the strange sticky thing on his belly. He gets confused when he realizes what it is. He considered himself too old to be fooling around like that, but accepted that booze does strange things to people. The next thing his mind catches on is that the laptop is on, when he turned it off last night. A message waits for him on his email. It was from the killer fuckhead. “What a great way to start this morning”, he thinks. There was a video attached to the message. That could wait until he showered and took his breakfast.

With a mug of coffee in hands, he clicked on the video to discover what weirdness awaited from him from the least favorite killer.

\- No fucking way!

The white mug shatters on the floor, staining more the already stained carpet. Hodges feel like vomiting. He rushes to the bathroom and sees the purple bruise on his neck. The fucker had left a hick on him! The whole room seems to spiraled around him. He has to call someone. He has to throw that bloody laptop out of the window. He has to fucking kill Mr. Mercedes.

Hodges sits on the mattress to organize his thoughts, then he casts all the covers and linen on the floor. He was disgusted. Bill didn’t want to be inside his house anymore. He picks up his gun and the wicked laptop and goes to the police department. They had to do something. Or he would. And Bill Hodges was very sure that the killer would not get a single pleasure out of it.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "Control" from the Russian band "Biting Elbows"


End file.
